


Pick Your Way Through the Debris

by string



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Relationship, friendship and/or pre-relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/string/pseuds/string
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ep for 5x01. Friendship and fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick Your Way Through the Debris

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, this is from forever ago. Most of this fic has been kicking around my drafts since the night the episode aired.

She does the paperwork on autopilot and they leave without a word. She’s grateful that he doesn’t venture an ‘I told you so’, but she wishes he didn’t look quite so tired and sad.

It occurs to her, though, that she probably looks about the same.

She turns to him at a red light and finds that his gaze has finally moved away from the window. He’s still not making eye contact, but she figures there are worse places for him to be looking than her chin.

She’s trying to think of something to say that isn’t completely fucking stupid when he speaks instead.

‘Got any plans?’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘If I did I’d be cancelling them. Why?’

When she looks back again, his eyes have skipped away to his window again and she sends up a half-worded prayer that she hasn’t accidentally driven him off. She’s just too _tired_ to tiptoe around him, and damn it, she just needs them back where they used to be.

The pause drags almost long enough for her to prompt him, but his shrug catches her eye.

‘Just,’ his speech is slow, ‘if you wanted to, and I wouldn’t be intruding,’ far be it from irritating her, it’s scaring her shitless, ‘maybe a movie or something?’

She takes a deep breath and she knows he’s opening his mouth to backtrack. ‘Pizza?’ It comes out on a sigh, which he echoes.

‘Yeah.’

She pulls off at a plaza; he doesn’t need to ask what she wants on the pizza and she doesn’t need to ask what kind of chocolate he wants.

Neither of them speak as he follows her inside, carrying the food straight to the couch as she grabs plates and water.

When she stands up from starting the movie he’s sitting in the middle of the couch with his arm over the back. She considers the recliner for half a breath before collapsing next to him.

Halfway through the movie, when her nose has gotten used to the smell of the pizza but not to the man next to her, it occurs to her that this looks a lot like the very situation she saved him from earlier.  When she points this out he shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head again more firmly.

As the movie wears on and Jane’s arm gets heavier, it occurs to her vaguely that blanket apologies and Jane letting himself not-talk are new. And that ‘when’s the last time you rode a man’s bike’ and desperate handholding were new too.

And just before she dozes off, the craziest thing floats through her mind.

Because, what if they can’t catch Red John yet because they’re not ready for the emotional fallout? What if they just need time and prompting to work their shit out?

That night Teresa’s dreams are warm and not yet speculative of what they could lose on their way.


End file.
